


Claws Cut - It's What They Do

by ThatwasJustaDream



Series: Vet Visit [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean's Not as Oblivious as he Acts, Deceptively Fluffy Beginnings, Going Nowhere Good, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2016-09-01
Packaged: 2018-07-11 12:51:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7052413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatwasJustaDream/pseuds/ThatwasJustaDream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's not happy, putting out money to care for something he couldn't care less about. Why <i>does</i> Cas have to be so frigging hooked on <i>cats?"</i> And why is Sammy giving him the evil eye for fighting this, when he's a damn dog guy?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Can I point out what a waste of time and money this is?” Dean muttered, his elbow on Baby’s driver-side armrest, his head balanced on his left hand as he glared over at Cas. “We live hand to mouth, but we’re spending actual _cash_ on a damn _cat_?”

“Sam will minimize the financial impact. I know he will,” Castiel nodded generally toward the building in front and to the left of them that housed the veterinary office, looking nervous. “He’ll flash his saddest eyes at the receptionist…and then at the doctor. Perhaps he’ll get it examined for free.”

“I think you overestimate the strength of my brother’s puppy eyes, buddy.”

“I don’t think that I do, Dean. I find them very hard to resist, myself.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m simply saying that Sam has a way of putting his whole soul into his gaze… and it's very compelling.”

“What, you mean like Jedi Voice compelling?”

“On par with that. Yes.”

“Are you saying you like his eyes better than mine, Cas?”

“ _Dean_ ….” He watched Cas shaking his head, giving him one of his own most classic looks; a slow, angel eye-roll. “Please."

"Please, what?"

"You can be quite obtuse.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It means I know you aren’t really confused …or concerned… about whose gaze I prefer.”

The dude was weird. Dorky and weird, and maybe a little too honest.

“This conversation isn’t making me feel any better about our …excursion,” Dean said. “No more stray cats in the bunker, Castiel. I mean it. That’s the last one ever getting a free meal off of Team Free Will.”

“We should take a vote on that,” Castiel said, his voice entirely level, which was even more infuriating than sitting here and waiting.

“Sure, we should take a vote,” Dean felt his jaw tightening. “‘Cause you’ll vote ‘More cats,’ of course. And Sam’ll vote “More cats” to piss me off. Plus, you’ll owe him one next time something comes to a vote, so…."

Castiel looked distracted, like he was barely listening and Dean glanced left to see why: Sam, headed their way, grey and tan tabby in his arms - shifting it around as he opened the back door and slid in.

“Sam, is she….”

“She’s okay,” Sam said. “Let’s get home. I’ll tell you the rest there.”

“How about you tell us the rest now,” Dean said, but he was cranking the key and looking in the rear-view to get going. “Starting with what they charged you?”

“Thirty bucks,” Sam said. “I think I got the Mercy Rate. I laid it on thick - said it was my daughter’s cat and she’s heartbroken; in tears over it being sick….”

Dean braved a look at Castiel as he drove, and saw him beaming at Sam’s words.

“Shut up,” he told Cas.

“I didn’t say any….”

“Shut up.”

"…anything. Well done, Sam,” Castiel looked back toward him. “Thank you.”

Then he did shut up. They both did, and Dean got a bad feeling - a deeply uneasy suspicion as to why the two of them were suddenly so silent. 

He could only hope he was wrong.

~*~

“Kittens?!” Dean shouted, a ton of ‘hell no’ in that one word.

“Yep. Kittens,” Sam said, setting the tabby down on the library floor. “Esmerelda is not sick, she’s pregnant.”

“Uh-uh. No…no, no….” Dean took a step toward the feline, but it had the good sense to run toward Castiel, who picked it up and flipped it in his arms, holding it baby style, fingers scratching at its forehead. “That is not happening. There is no frigging way that thing is having kittens in here. Give her to me.”

“Don’t… Castiel said, voice low, eyes dark as he walked toward the kitchen. “Don’t you dare.”

“You’re not winning this one!” Dean followed him, Sam a few steps behind. “This is not an animal shelter. It’s not a home for wayward pussies. Although…now that I hear that sentence out loud….”

“Dean! Stop it,” Sam actually barked it. “Just…stop it.”

Dean looked back at him and froze - mouth falling open and shutting again. Sam did, indeed, have the puppy eyes on- but not for the cat, clearly. They were on Castiel, who was pulling milk from the fridge and searching up a bowl, looking insanely happy at the idea of baby cats.

Sam’s eyes, they were full of …what? Empathy. Pity. Dean had seen Sam giving Cas concerned glances like that more than once, recently. He couldn’t figure out exactly why the hell that was... but it almost felt like Sam was vaguely disappointed with him in some way.

“Sam, we are not a cattery. We're on the road half the month, and…."

"Are you seriously going to do it?" Sam asked it under his breath. "Are you going to wrestle that scrawny thing out of Castiel's arms and boot it out the door?"

Dean was wordless, again. Until he wasn't.

"God …dammit," he marched back toward the bedrooms, looking forward to giving his a good slam. "….shit….fuck…. and damn. You two get to take care of them, okay?"

"Fine," he heard Sam say. "We will. You can be the pissy uncle who doesn't want anything to do with 'em."

“Uncle my ass…..” Dean muttered to himself. “Kittens; eight or nine eating machines. Four paws each. A pooping, electrical-cord-chewing armada of allergens that I am deeply, deeply... _allergic_ to... and attitude. Yeah…that’s what we need around here….”

~tbc~


	2. Chapter 2

“Holy …crap, buddy….” Dean’s voice was thready as he worked at catching his breath. “….your mouth. It’s…..”

Addictive. That’s what Castiel gathered he meant, though Dean never finished the sentence.

He helped as Dean shimmied back into his boxers, then licked and bit at Dean’s hip and up over his chest, breathing in the scent of his warm, sweat-sheened skin.

“No,” he batted Dean’s hand away when Dean tried to slide it into Castiel’s sweats. “Not today.”

“After that? Are you trying to tell me you don’t have a raging….”

Dean had been particularly noisy; long, loud sounds out of him that sounded both like a plea to make him come and another to make it last. Castiel had spent the better part of half an hour fulfilling both requests, making Dean's body twist and buck on the couch. 

“I chose to suppress it today,” he stopped short of face-to-face with him, settling by him. Kisses were not happening this time; Castiel didn’t even have to ask.

“Must be nice. I’d pay good money to be able to switch it on and off, myself. Okay, then, time to roll, Cas…”

“Five minutes.”

“Fine. Five. Not twenty.”

They were sprawled on the bunker’s longest sofa; Dean in nothing but boxers, Castiel in the V-neck shirt and sweats he’d stolen from one of those box stores they’d stopped at last week. He had told Sam and Dean he bought them with the last of his Gas-N-Sip pay; hadn’t wanted to say he’d stolen them. In part, that was because he was ashamed. But also because it would have led to questions he didn’t want to answer. 

“The bathroom's not gonna clean itself….” he felt Dean murmur against the top of his head. “Beds won't strip for us…."

“It’s only been one minute.”

Four more. Castiel was collecting every one.

Sam was out dealing with his own portion of their ‘to do’ list: Groceries, gas the car, pick up ammo and visit the hardware store for the many little things it took to keep the bunker going. He’d be another hour, at least. They’d be done their chores before he was back.

“Look at her,” Dean was shifting; kind of urging Cas to turn on his side a bit and check out the cat. “Do they always do that? Or is it because she’d got a belly the size of a small toaster?”

Esmerelda was a dozen feet away by the library tables; on her back, four paws in four directions, rolling around lightly as she groomed her front toes meticulously, biting at her nails.

“They all do it,” Castiel said. “Although I’m sure her sides are her only other option at this point."

“What the hell do we do when they start coming?” Dean asked.

“You do nothing,” Castiel said. “You were clear about that. I’ll watch over her, give her encouragement. Cats….they take care of it themselves. Some people think of them as skittish or aloof, but…they’re survivors. For them, that means be lithe. Be ready to run. Take care of your own needs.”

“Well…they are hunters. Aren’t they?” Dean pulled himself up, climbing over Castiel, not waiting for him to get up. “C’mon.”

~*~

"Make yourself right at home, why don't you?" Dean said the next morning, leaning up slightly from his pillow.

"I...think I am."

"Not talking about you," Dean pointed toward his clothes closet and Castiel looked, briefly, too. "I'm talking about her."

"What's she doing?" Castiel was as surprised as Dean.

"She just sidled in here dragging a t-shirt in her teeth, and pulled it right in with her."

Indeed, the cat was making random half circles in the closet; twisting the cloth around, pushing at it with her paws. It was one of Sam’s tees - likely due to his tendency to toss them in the corner of the bathroom floor and forget them there.

"Ohhhh," Castiel was up and over to her quickly, a little too much urgency in his step for Dean's taste. "I think...."

"Don't say it..."

"She’s…. um….”

"You made her a nest in the laundry room, dammit," Dean was up, now, too, searching for his robe. "She's got a freaking kitty condo down there..."

"I hoped she would take to it for the birthing, but..." Castiel had scooped her up and was carrying her gingerly toward the hall.

Esmerelda wasn't having it; twisting and sliding through his hands and bolting right back to Dean's closet. 

"No, no, no.....no!" Dean was shouting it at her, not Cas- apparently attempting to convey to her that she was not pushing out a bunch of kittens between his boots, but....

"I think....we need to let her be. We have to bring her some towels and blankets, because...."

"Oh, for the love of...."

".....kitten number one? It's definitely on the way. I see… the birthing sac….”

“Did you have to say those words?” 

Dean looked physically sick. But then he was headed for the laundry room, so Castiel took that as a good sign.

-*-

It turned out it wasn't the 'kitty condo' that Esmerelda had a problem with; it was its location. Once they'd moved the bedding to Dean's room, she pushed it around to her liking, moved all eight babies into it, and settled in for the next month.

"I don't see why you're upset about it, Dean," Sam had nodded toward the closet when he came in to get a look at the kittens. "It's not like you're living in there anymore."

It had been a while since his brother had chased Sam for a great distance with the threat of physical violence in his eyes. Probably since they were about six and ten years old. Lucky for Sam, his long legs saved him.

-*-

“I don’t know about that last couple,” Dean nodded toward where they could still see the young husband and wife headed for their car, the wife cradling a kitten in her hands. “Think they’re all right?”

“I know they’re all right,” Castiel said, tending to the last two that remaining, the calico and the pure grey kitty curled up together in a cardboard box on the folding table in front of them. “I can read people again, Dean.”

“Yeah, well, if you say so….”

It was Sam who came up with the idea of finding them homes while they did their shopping. He was inside picking up canned soup, bread and breakfast staples while they sat here giving people polite nods and smiles. The box with the words “Free to good homes” on the side drew enough interest to get the job nearly done- and so far no one from the store had come to boot them out of there.

One woman had asked Castiel if the sign applied to him, too, and offered to take him up on it. But she’d scooted away when Dean’s mouth popped open; at the ‘you did not just’ look he gave her.

“Stop it,” Dean told Castiel. 

“What?”

“You’re gloating. With your face.”

“I am not.”

The effort was entirely a success, when a woman took the calico home. She’d picked up the grey cat first, but…

“No, sorry, our bad,” Dean had gently pulled it away from her. “That one’s not for adoption.”

“But…”

“Sorry, like I said….our mistake. Shouldn’t have brought him at all, but…. the calico’s got the better temperament anyway.”

“Does it?”

“Yeah, she’s real laid back. Seriously, I’m doing you a favor…..”

Castiel watched the negotiation with great interest but almost no surprise. He’d seen Dean carrying the grey cat around the bunker more than once - sometimes with its tiny body sprawled over his shoulder, claws clasping at Dean’s shirt.

Cas was fairly certain he’d heard Dean refer to it as Gandalf.

~*~

“Esmerelda!” Sam flipped through the many things that had piled up in the dungeon lately. “Please don’t hide if you’re down here. Es!”

Once things had calmed down, it had turned into a storage room as much as anything, and there was a fair amount of stuff they’d cleared out of the living quarters as they modernized the place a little.

“I appreciate you not giving up, Sam,” Castiel was moving things around, too, but without much hope on his face or energy in his movements. “But I’m afraid she’s gone.”

“How could that be, exactly, when the front door’s only open if one of us opens it?” He saw Castiel start to say something back and then stop, and it seemed to confirm his worst thoughts. “Dean. He booted her out, didn’t he?”

“I asked him,” Castiel said. “He said that he did not.”

“Bullshit.”

“There is the garage, Sam. Perhaps…”

The thought went unfinished as the basement door opened and Dean walked in.

“What the hell are you two doing down here? Been looking for you for ten minutes.”’

“We’re trying to find Esmerelda,” Sam said, voice heavy with an unspoken accusation. “If she got down here, and she starves because we didn’t look for her….” 

“Will you give it up?” Dean turned back to go upstairs. “The damn thing was feral. Feral cats run. Hey…at least she waited ’till after we got her fixed, right? And may I point out it’s one less mouth to feed that can’t do a damn thing for us?”

Sam said nothing, just fumed. Castiel sat in the chair with the chains and wrist and ankle cuffs on its arms and legs, and drew a deep sigh.

It wasn’t lost on either of them that Gandalf hadn’t disappeared.

“Apparently….” Sam said eventually, “Dean finds his cat more useful and worth feeding.”

“There’s no controlling it,” Castiel said, eyes on the empty doorway. “….who a stubborn man will give his heart to, and who he won’t.”

“Yeah, well,” Sam headed up, apparently satisfied they’d ruled out her being unintentionally trapped in the dungeon. “I’m gonna go talk to him again. He might lie to you to save your feelings, but…. if he did this? I’m getting it out of him.”


	3. The End

“Dean, tell me you didn’t kick that defenseless animal out,” Sam went around the car, since apparently Dean couldn’t be swayed to pull his head out from under the hood for even a second. “Out of the only home she’s had?”

“Are you …. _kidding?_ Why would you care if I did?” Dean twisted the wrench, his entire focus on the Impala and tuning her up. “Besides… she wasn’t declawed so she’s not defenseless, Sammy.”

“I’m asking you again: Look at me, and…”

“And what?” Dean did stand up, now, mostly to glare at him. “You gonna fight me if I say yes, I did drop-kick that bag of bones out of here?”

Well, there was a good question Sam had to admit. What would he do?

Dean had the upper hand in that Sam cared what Dean thought, but Dean? He didn’t generally give a flying fuck what anyone thought; especially not since the Mark, and surviving his bout with demonization. It was like the experience had permanently pulled a heavy dose of empathy out of Dean’s body – and he’d never had a lot to spare.

Add to that the thing they’d all learned: That Earth was on its own, now? That Good and Bad, Dark and Light, God and Amara were entirely fallible? Some people might be empowered by it; feel their hearts split open, daring to be kinder and more loving. 

Dean, unfortunately for them all, had grown tangibly colder instead.

“Just tell me,” Sam said, setting a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Please? Did you?”

He felt his brother cave ever so slightly under his touch, although it wouldn’t have been visible to anyone but Sam or Castiel.

“I didn’t do anything bad to Esmeralda,” Dean muttered, leaning back in to scan the engine for what needed his attention next. “Let’s be clear: I don’t give a damn that it’s gone, and I don’t get why either of you is acting the way you are about a damn cat. It probably just ran away when we pulled the car out, or something. Okay?” 

“Yeah,” Sam looked at him closely, and felt it – that his words were true. “Okay. Thank you.”

~*~

“What are you really trying to ask me, Sam?” Castiel tugged at the corner of the fitted sheet, pulling it tight and then moving toward the foot of Dean’s bed. “You don’t have to… dance around it. Whatever it is.”

Sam looked sheepish, and Castiel thought how odd it was – how similar and yet different his flood of loving feelings for Sam were. Just as important, and yet…so much simpler. That was it. Not lesser. Simpler.

“I don’t know that I’m asking you _anything_ ,” Sam said, tossing the top sheet open toward Cas, who caught the far end. “Maybe I’m…trying to take your temperature.”

“Why would you try to…”

“No, Cas, I don’t mean literally take your body temperature. I mean… I’m trying to get a sense if you’re …feeling fidgety. Like you want to take off?”

“Ah,” Castiel let the smile that wanted out grow. “I see. Sorry.”

They were doing the chores this week, while Dean ran the errands. Castiel sensed before Dean even left that Sam might take this as an opportunity to talk with him; it wasn’t like they ever had a lot of time alone.

“I really hope you’re not ready to give up on him,” Sam said, tucking the sheet under at the foot of the bed, pushing out some wrinkles. “I hope you can be patient.”

“All I can tell you is I’m doing my best. It is trying, though, lately…. more than ever. We’ve come so far, he and I, and yet…”

“I know,” Sam said. “And the crazy part is he can’t see it: That when you’re here he’s one way. Difficult, but together. And when you’re gone? He’s an actual mess.”

Castiel couldn’t keep it off his face; the combination of sorrow and relief that maybe he was still needed.

“I’ll try,” he told Sam. “And if I get to the point where I’m ….feeling fidgety? Then, I’ll talk with him.”

 

~*~

“Castiel!” 

Dean’s voice. Panicked. In the stairway, headed for the kitchen.

“Hey,” Sam trotted that way from the showers – a towel still around his waist, another rubbing his hair dry. “What’s wrong?”

“Cas!” Dean yelled it - like he hadn’t even heard Sam, headed from the kitchen to the library. “Get your ass out here!”

“Dean….” Sam tucked the towel for his hair under one arm, hitching the one around his waist tighter. “He’s not here. I haven’t seen him all afternoon. What the hell happened?”

“We were coming back from interviewing a witness,” Dean said, tugging at the tie he most generally wore with his ‘we’re from the FBI’ suit lately. “…and he started in with this…. litany of …. needy shit....”

“Oh, no,” Sam felt himself saying. Realizing. “You didn’t…”

“I asked him if he knew whose car he was in,” Dean said, hand going into his pockets. “He says yes. So…I asked if he knew who was driving it, and….”

“Jesus, Dean…”

“Then I asked …if he _knows_ me, then why is he wasting both of our time lecturing me?”

“He was reaching out to you.”

“We are what we are, Sam,” Dean said it not unkindly. “Sure, he and I…we’ve been making it up as we go, but… I am what I am.”

“Have you considered that he doesn’t actually need us anymore?” Sam asked. 

He headed back toward the bathroom, surprised when Dean chose to follow.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what I said. He only needs us to the extent that he needs you. He can experience this world on his own now – can fend for himself and help others without our extensive laundry list of hunting goals and priorities getting in the way. Maybe he left to do just that – to get on with his own existence.”

“He wouldn’t…. do that.”

“Yeah?” Sam asked. “I wouldn’t be so sure.”

“So what’s it to you?”

“What’s it to me?” Sam circled back on him. “He’s my friend, Dean. Whatever you two are? He’s my friend. And we’ve been a team for six damn years.”

“He’s not…gone,” Dean said. 

“Isn’t he?”

It was exactly then Gandalf the Grey chose to show up – one of the few times Esmerelda’s kitten had opted to leave the garage lately. He was a thin, grey ball of fluff that was still all angles despite Dean feeding him plates full of tuna and milk; bright green eyes narrowing as he meowed up at Dean now.

“C’mon” Sam heard Dean tell the cat, watching as it sidled up to him and then circled around his feet; once, twice, before jumping up onto Dean’s shoulder. “What’s your problem? Don’t tell me you’re pissed at me for absolutely no good reason, too?”

He watched the two of them head for Dean’s room; Gandalf looking back with what Sam swore was an entreating look.

“Dammit….” Sam headed back to the shower to finish getting dressed. “Dammit, Dean….”

~*~

One Week Later

“I see you’ve got the place to yourself,” Sam said.

He hadn’t seen his brother so alone in the garage for quite some time; not since Gandalf became attached to him by a furry hip. But lately…

“What are you talking about?”

“Your cat. Where’s he at?”

“He wasn’t my cat,” Dean said, and Sam got a chill down his spine at the level of frost in his brother’s voice. “Not my turn to watch the damn thing.”

“Dean…”

“He must have left, right? Just like the other one. And just like…. you can’t trust cats,” Dean pronounced. “And you can’t trust…”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Sam said, ignoring the snort it got him.

“It’s a frigging animal,” Dean said. “It’ll be fine. It’ll fend for itself.”

“Huh,” Sam said.

“Huh, what?”

“I’m wondering… are we still talking about the cat?”

“Fuck off, Sam.”

What else had he expected to hear?

“Night, Dean.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to be so slow posting this- especially with the downbeat ending. I was going to write a scene with Dean seeing Castiel once more but... am not sure he deserves to see him again.


End file.
